perseus and andromeda
by Idrelle Miocovani
Summary: This is District 4, where competing in the brutal Hunger Games means honour and pride. Being a victor is so much more than simply walking away with your life. Victory is only the first tentative step towards a corrupt world filled with deceit, blame, hurt, and, perhaps, love and forgiveness.
1. district 4

**A/N: **This is my first venture back into fan fic after a fairy extended hiatus. I sort of wish that my first fic in a while was something light and fluffy, but where would the fun be in that? This is a story I really wanted to write after re-reading _The Hunger Games_ trilogy and my muse became extremely attached to Annie and Finnick. This is also something of an experiment with style, since I wanted to try a non-linear approach to storytelling. If you like something that is structured like a series of interlinking vignettes, you've come the right place!

A warning: this story deals with difficult themes. It discusses rape and sexual assault and depicts characters dealing with the emotional fallout. However, it does not go into graphic depictions of those acts.

And so, without further rambling from me, let's get started.

* * *

** perseus / andromeda  
**

* * *

_"… maybe he's changed."  
"So have you. So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee. Don't get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena messed us all up pretty good, don't you think?"  
_Katniss and Johanna, _Mockingjay._

_"If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it. I wasn't the only one, but I was the most popular. And perhaps the most defenseless, because the people I loved were defenseless. To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable. Secrets."_  
Finnick, _Mockingjay._

_ "Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?"  
"No. She crept up on me."  
_Katniss and Finnick, _Mockingjay._

* * *

**[district 4]**

_[annie]_

This is District 4 in the eyes of Panem:

Brave, beautiful, occasionally reckless. Strong, arrogant, charming.

Salt water. Ocean.

Pride.

Career Tributes.

This is District 4 in the eyes of District 4:

Wind and salt. Tempests and storms. Sand and seaweed. Driftwood and footprints. Tides and tide pools. Boats and ships. Nets and fish.

Injuries Dehydration. Sunburn. Sunstroke.

Pride. Honour.

Career Tributes.

Victors.

The Hunger Games are more than a national celebration. It's part of our way of life. We don't train for the Games, not like the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 are rumoured to do. Our strength comes from our homeland. From the sand and the sea. From the afternoons spent gathering fish and knotting nets. From the community that bands together to make sure that no one goes hungry, that no one is without shelter. Panem's cameras don't show the sunburned skin, the peeling noses, the calluses and the dehydration, but these are parts of the whole that make us who we are.

We know how to brave the elements. We know how to navigate. We can net and capture. We can gut and kill another living thing.

I was four when I realized what death meant. My first fish swallowed the hook.

Its head came off when my mother helped me pull it out of the water.

I didn't eat fish for a month after that.

In District 4, it is a great honour to serve in the Hunger Games. They bring fame and wealth to the victor, and food and supplies to the victor's district. And if you die, you die knowing you tried to bring better days to your home. We dream of fighting and winning the Hunger Games.

It is the right thing to do, because you are District 4.


	2. reaping day

**[reaping day]**

_[annie]_

Finnick jokes about Reaping Day. He isn't the only one. Most of us do. We celebrate Reaping Day with fancy meals and specially-made clothes. We all look forward to it. It's a national holiday, one where we can show our pride for our district on national television.

Those who don't are called cowards. No one likes being a coward.

District 4 has very few cowards. Who wouldn't give everything to represent their home in the Games and try their best to reap the benefits of becoming a victor? Our elders always tell us they wish they had been tributes.

"You are lucky," one teacher says. "You have the opportunity to be chosen to do more with your life than many of us. If you are chosen, make the most of it."

"If you are reaped," another says, "you will be afraid. You will be scared. Laugh all you want now – once the adrenaline from Reaping Day passes and you're on your way to the Capitol, the fear will come. And you should be scared. You are going to the arena, where you will face extremely high chances of being killed. But remember that we all face death, every day. You could be swept overboard and lost to the sea. You could drown in the lagoon. You could accidentally be speared with a trident. To be reaped is to allow yourself to be afraid, and then to let that fear go. You are District 4. You can fight for every chance to return home."

The Hunger Games is on everyone's minds this afternoon. The Victory Tour has just passed through District 4. We were all curious to see the boy who beat our tributes last year. We were disappointed. He was so strong – scary, even – on screen, but in person, he was underwhelming. Shy. Nervous.

Not like our victors. Though we don't see much of our victors. They either stay in their village, or they are in the Capitol, enjoying their transformed lives.

"If I'm not reaped, I'll have to volunteer," Finnick says as he tries to fix his net. We're sitting on the beach with a group of other kids from school. We all have chores to do, but that doesn't mean that we have to do them at home.

"Why's that?" I ask. My fingers are working quickly. I know how to knot nets. It's in my family. Before she lost her hands, Mama used to invent different kinds of knots to use and she taught me and my sister everything.

"I'm too pretty not to be on TV!"

It's a joke. Finnick's one of those boys who _knows_ he's attractive. He's thirteen and he turns most the girls' heads at school – and some of the boys', too. He's already working on his father's fishing boat. A lot of people are jealous of him.

He also can't tie a knot to save his life.

"If you're reaped, someone's gonna mess up your face in the Games," Quintan says.

"But then I'll win, and the Capitol will fix it."

"But then I'll break your nose when you get home."

Quintan is my age. He lives next door to Finnick. They've been friends forever, so Quintan's allowed to say things like that.

"What do you think, Annie?" Finnick asks.

I pause and put down my net. "Your dad isn't going to catch any fish if he uses that sorry excuse for a net."

"What's wrong with my net?"

"_Everything."_

I fix his net.

He doesn't listen when I explain what he did wrong.

We're all excited for the Games this year. Most of us have just turned twelve and we're eligible for the first time. Finnick makes a big show of scoffing at us younger ones (like _he's_ so much older!). Twelve year olds are really rare. District 4 is a Career district. It's an honour to be in the Games. If you're twelve and you're reaped, someone older than you is going to volunteer. They don't want to see their chance disappear in some grubby twelve-year-old's hands.

District 4 always puts forward tributes that are capable and deserve to be in the Games.

My sister Arianne made my first reaping dress. She worked all year on it, and she wouldn't show me. She said it was a surprise. Finally, when the day comes, it's hanging on the back of my chair in my bedroom.

"It's blue," she says. "For the sea. And there's this—"

She holds something out in her hand. It's a delicate necklace of pale pink seashells that dangle together on a narrow chain. I quickly put it on and notice that it's much too long for me.

"I made it for me," Arianne says, "when I was fifteen. It was going to be my token. I always thought that if I was chosen, I would want to remember the sea in the arena. Now it's yours. So you can remember it if you're chosen."

"But I'm not going to be chosen," I say.

"Probably not this year. But you never know."

"Arianne," I say quietly, "I don't think I want to be chosen. Not ever."

Arianne smiles. "Annie, I think a lot of people think that way. They just don't tell anyone because it wouldn't be right."

"Really?"

"Yes. I know I didn't really want to be chosen, even though I pretended I wanted to."

"Then it's okay to be scared?"

Arianne takes my hand. "It is _always_ okay to be scared."

It takes us almost two hours to get to the Justice Building. Our village isn't the closest, and I am jumping up and down in the boat so much (nerves, I guess?) I almost tip us twice. I say goodbye to Mama and Arianne. I have my identification taken for the first time. I join Mare and Ariel in the section with hundreds of other twelve-year-old girls. We're all dressed up, all chatting. No one looks scared. Everyone is sure that if they are reaped, one of the older kids will volunteer for them.

Jasmine Sparks stands on the stage. She's our District escort and she's been around for what seems like forever. Maybe even before I was born. Somehow she doesn't fall over even though she's wearing shoes that make her feet almost point on a ninety degree angle. I wonder how she does that.

My friend Ariel loves her. She wants to be like Jasmine when she grows up.

"You'll have to be a Victor one day," I told her.

"I don't really want to be a Victor though."

"You'll have to! You can only get aqua hair if you live in the Capitol, and you can only live in the Capitol if you're a Victor."

The names are read. A thirteen-year-old girl is called up on the stage. Then a twelve-year-old boy. I don't know either of them. They're from a different village.

Then the volunteering starts. It's quite a process, like haggling in the market. My legs are starting to go numb from standing in one spot by the time it finishes. We have new tributes, both volunteers. The girl is seventeen. I don't know her, but I think she's really beautiful. A lot of tributes are, girls _and_ boys.

I wonder whether I will ever be pretty enough to be a tribute. But I'm not sure I even _want_ to be a tribute.

"You don't have to decide now, Annie!" Mare says as we clap for the pretty girl who is going to be our tribute this year. "There are volunteers _every_ year. It doesn't matter if you get reaped. If you don't want to do it, then someone will volunteer. If you do want to do it, then you volunteer. Easy. That's what I'm counting on."

Mare is amazing in how she's able to explain things that don't really make sense. I feel better.

The boy tribute is sixteen. Unlike the girl, I know him.

His name is Ben Odair and he's Finnick's cousin.

I can see Finnick in the crowd. He's excited. He looks really proud that a family member is going to represent District 4 in the Games this year.

Jasmine is calling them two of the brightest and best District 4 has ever seen, and there is a lot of applause. Then the Peacekeepers let us go. I wonder why they stand guard over us. It's not like anyone's going to miss Reaping Day.

It's our holiday.

You don't miss Reaping Day.

Happy Hunger Games.

* * *

_[finnick]_

When you grow up with the Games, you think you understand everything. You think how amazing it is, to see people from your home compete in a Game that means everything. You know it's life and death for them, in the arena, but it's more than just that. It's pride and honour. It's about doing something for your district.

That's what my cousin said. Ben wanted to volunteer for his Games. It was his dream to go out in a blaze of glory. He was the ninth kid in his family. No one paid attention to him. He was useless on a fishing boat. He almost took his hand off with a hook.

"When there's nothing for you here, Finnick," he said, "you start to think big."

"What if you lose?"

"Then I lose."

"You'll be dead."

"More people die in accidents out on the sea every year than in the Games. I'd rather die for my District than gathering seafood and pearls for a green-skinned ogre in the Capitol."

When I saw him die on our television screen, I had to remind myself that he said that. I quoted him aloud and my aunt slapped me across my mouth.

"_Finnick!"_

"But he said that!"

"You little liar!"

"I'm not making it up!"

"_Get out! Out out out!"_

My aunt chased me out of the house with a broom and meat cleaver and I went to watch the rest of the Games with Annie and Quintan.

The Games finished two weeks ago. It hurts to be around family right now. They only go out when they need something, or when they have to go to work on Dad's boat. Everyone cries. My cousins all cry. My sisters cry. My brothers cry. It's the thing that sucks about being part of a big family. When something bad happens, it's like the entire family is one big emotion blob.

They're not sad. Ben was reckless. He was always pulling stupid stunts (like seeing how long he could balance on top of a ship's mast) and almost getting himself killed. But they supported him when he decided to volunteer for the Games. No one told him no. He fought to be accepted as volunteer. We all really thought he could do it. If anyone could win the Games, it was Ben.

And now he lost and now he's dead.

They are all ashamed.

You can see the glares some people in the village give my aunt. I'm guessing those are the people who took her word when she told them Ben would win. They put money down on my cousin winning.

There's something wrong with that. I don't know what it is, but when I think about it, it just doesn't seem _right._ Everyone knows the Gamemakers control the Game. You're almost more likely to be killed by some Gamemaker trap than another tribute. I have this theory that when they get bored, they start playing eenie-meenie-minie-moe to pick off tributes.

"That's _horrible,"_ Annie says.

We're on the beach. Annie brought a blanket and she's lying on her stomach, making these little braided and knotted bands out of coloured string. She likes to keep her hands busy. She says it helps her think. I'm digging a hole in the sand with the end of a stick. Don't know why. It makes me feel better.

"I think it's true." I stab the sand with the stick.

Am I ashamed of Ben? It's crazy to think of how much I looked up to him. Dad keeps telling me that I have the same reckless streak. I keep telling him that I don't, I'm just legitimately curious to see if I can cliff-dive.

"I'm really sorry about your cousin."

Ben's dead. Why did he die? That other tribute – the one from 11 – cut his throat. Why did she cut his throat? Because Ben was going to kill her if she didn't? Because the Capitol made her?

Does that mean the Capitol killed him? Or did he kill himself, volunteering for the Games? Ben thought he could win. He was sure he was going to win. He thought he could bring honour to the District. He wanted to do something that would make his family proud of him, something that would make us forget all his stupid stunts.

Annie pulls another knot tight on her bracelet. She's waiting for me to say something. She's good like that. She doesn't like pestering people for conversation. I'm the one who likes to talk. She probably thinks it's weird that I'm not saying much.

Am I ashamed of Ben?

Whenever I think about my cousin, all I feel is anger. I'm angry. I don't know why. Maybe it's because he's dead. I'm angry at him for volunteering.

I'm angry at him for losing. And dying.

I'm angry at the girl from District 11, but she's dead, too.

I'm angry at all the people talking about my family in the village market. Saying how Ben let down our District. You don't hear them talking about his district partner that way.

I take the stick and hurl it as far as I can. It lands with a splash in the water and disappears under a wave.

"I don't want to talk about him."

Annie pauses. "We don't have to." She ties a knot tight in her string. "My sister says that she's going to start taking me out on her boat in the morning once I turn thirteen."

"Yeah?"

"She says I need to learn how do more than just make nets."

"You're pretty good at those," I say. I mean it. She's the best.

"Could you give me a few pointers?" she asks. "On fishing?"

Immediately I get why she's asking. I know where this is coming from.

"Annie, are you still scared about all your fish coming up headless?"

She looks down at her string bracelet and pulls a couple knots tight.

"I'm _not_ teasing you." I sit on the sand beside her blanket. "It's an actual question."

She picks up her bag of string and shuffles over so I'm able to sit on the blanket with her. "Yeah. What? I was _four._ Of course I was traumatized."

"You've seen all the stuff that goes down in the Games—"

"_That_ is different. That's TV."

It was only TV when Ben had his throat cut. I saw him die.

"You know what's happening."

"But it's not happening right in front of you. At least _actually _in front of you. There's a difference."

I don't get it. I saw Ben die when he died, it didn't matter that I wasn't in the arena with him. "What difference?"

"I don't know! There's just a difference." She brushes sand off her blanket. "I just don't like seeing things heads' come off, okay?"

"Just because that one fish swallowed its hook doesn't mean they all will."

A wave crashes to shore and deposits my driftwood stick on the sand.

"I'll teach you how to fish," I say.

What I don't tell her is that is when I decide that I'm going to volunteer for the Games next year. The next Reaping Day is going to be my last. I'm going to train, even though we're not supposed to. I know people who can help. I'll be ready. I'm going to win back our family pride, for Ben.

And I'm going to make sure everyone remembers the Odair family name.


	3. games

**[games]**

_[annie]_

As is tradition during the spring, we run to the beach as soon as the teachers let us out of class.

The school backs on to a small section of grainy sand that is usually covered with bits and pieces of driftwood and stray seaweed. Occasionally something more interesting washes up on shore, like the remains of an old boat. One autumn, there was a whole row of jellyfish and we quickly came up with a game that involved bouncing rocks off their shiny, ballooning bodies.

The boys start racing each other up and down the shore. Some of the girls join in, chasing them and each other. I sit with Ariel and Mare in our favourite spot. Like the good girls everyone tells us we are, we have nets to mend before dinnertime.

But we are completely distracted by the antics on the beach. I want to join in, but I have work to do. Mama isn't going to be happy with me if I don't finish fixing the net. Arianne needs it for tomorrow's haul and she's so busy now that she doesn't have time to fix it herself.

The group returns, hooting and hollering, carrying piles of driftwood sticks they found somewhere along the shore. Two boys hold the longest sticks; they're pretending to spar as they walk along the beach.

"I'll be Gil and you can be everyone else." The boy has black hair and a face that looks like it's always grinning. He's in my year, but in a different class. I think he's name starts with Q or some weird letter like that, but I'm not sure.

"I'll still beat you!" The second boy's bronze hair is windswept from the run. He looks a bit older than his sparring partner. He sounds brash, arrogant and ridiculously impossible not to like. He has one of _those_ voices. "On guard!"

The first boy jumps out of the way as the second boy takes a swing at him. "But _I'm_ Gil," he protests. "Gil has to win. That's the way it goes."

"Not if I'm Percy."

My imagination is levelled at just about zero, so I decide to start calling them Flighty and Fighty.

"Gil and Percy didn't even fight in the same Games," Flighty argues.

"It's called using your imagination," Fighty takes a fighter's stance, planting his feet firmly in the sand. He holds out his stick, ready to counter any attack from Flighty. _"If_ Gil and Percy fought in the same Games, Percy would win."

Flighty whips his stick around in a complicated little pattern. It moves so fast I can hear the _whoosh._ "Bring it on. I want to test the theory!"

All the other kids make a circle around them, clapping and cheering. I know this Game, they play it a lot. It's a game where the players re-enact parts of the Hunger Games, usually pretending to be their favourite Victors. The Game ends when you knock your partner cover and call, "Dead".

This should be interesting. I watch them from my spot, still working on my net.

"I hope they don't hurt themselves!" Ariel says.

"It's their fault if they do," Mare says.

_Whack!_

Fighty is the first to strike, jabbing his stick forwards. Flighty parries it, dancing aside and out of the way. He's light on his toes, but I can also tell he's impatient. He wants to win, but he makes a few mistakes. Fighty whacks him a few good times on the shins and Flighty is hopping from foot to foot, trying not to wince.

We watch them go at it. There are plenty of laughs and giggles and clapping hands from the kids watching. Ariel shouts at them to be careful – she really hates seeing people get hurt. It's a wonder she can stand to watch the real Hunger Games at all. She bites her nails whenever the sticks crash together.

Flighty and Fighty move across the beach, laughing and hooting as they break free from the circle of onlookers. They move closer and closer to where I'm sitting with my friends – they're not really paying attention to where they're walking, they're so focused on each other. For the most part, they seem pretty evenly matched, but I know they're both going to be bruised and sore tomorrow.

_Whack!_

Mare and Ariel shriek as the boys get closer. Mare laughs, pulling Ariel with her as they stumble in the sand, hurrying to get out of the way. I leave my net in the sand and throw myself to one side, narrowly dodging one of the driftwood sticks. I crouch down, watching. The boys haven't noticed me, even though I'm a couple of feet away from them.

"Annie! What are you _doing?"_

The sticks crash together one more time. I tug as hard as I can on my net.

Flighty and Fighty are flying head over heels, dropping their sticks as they fall. I stand up, my mended net in my hands, and walk over to where they're struggling to get up. I throw the net down, snaring both of them. Then I pick up one of their sticks. The kids on the beach are laughing hysterically.

I lightly jab them both in the stomach with the butt end of the stick. "Dead and dead," I say triumphantly.

Flighty groans. "Not fair!"

"It's the Hunger Games. Anything goes."

"Who are you supposed to be?" Fighty asks.

I plant my stick in the sand.

"Mags," I say. "She can beat you any day."

* * *

_[finnick]_

It's almost pitch black when I take off from camp. I have three knives, all of different shapes and lengths. All are extremely sharp. My backpack is strapped on, filled with food and water and a few other supplies. I wasn't stupid enough to leave camp without it, like some of the kids in my alliance. I'm not sure how long I'm going to be gone. We took the Cornucopia, and I'm going to make sure I use it to my advantage.

Ben also took the Cornucopia and he still got killed.

But I'm not Ben. Everyone's been reminding me of that lately. That was the last thing my Dad said to me before I left for the Capitol.

"You're _not_ your cousin."

"Good thing too, otherwise I'll be coming home as a corpse."

They don't understand why I did it. From their point of view, they've already lost one family member to the Games. They don't need to lose another. I didn't have to volunteer. They don't know I didn't have a choice. I _had_ to put myself in these Games.

Right now, I'm trying to remember why. To be in the Games is nothing like watching them. I understand that now. I think back to a conversation I had with Annie, one day at the beach. She couldn't see the difference between death in front of you and death on the TV screen, when you knew that it was really happening. I didn't agree with her.

I realize that she was right.

I was the first person to reach the Cornucopia. I grabbed a knife. Then my alliance arrived – the tributes from 1 and 2 and the boy from 7. I threw them weapons. Then the other tributes got there – the stupid ones, who thought they could filch something from us. They didn't. They died.

Maren, the girl from 2, was laughing when she stabbed her first victim. She had this look in her eye, like she'd been waiting to do this her entire life.

She's eighteen. Maybe she has. I don't know what it's like in District 2, what kind of stories she grew up on.

I stood guard over the supplies in the Cornucopia, watching as my alliance fanned out and hunted down every tribute in the area. They threw knives. They stabbed. They hacked. They slashed. I don't think my brain understood what I was seeing until it was over. It shut down. I couldn't move. I could only stand and watch.

My alliance isn't happy with me. They think I should have joined them in the slaughter. Because that's what I realize the Cornucopia really is – a slaughter. One of the tributes escaped and I was standing close enough to get him. Maren isn't going to let that go any time soon. I can already tell that when the time comes to turn on each other, Maren wants me to go first. She thinks I'm useless. I'm sure the rest of the alliance thinks that, too.

After it was over and the bodies were retrieved, I sat on the bloodied grass, holding my knife. It was the only weapon we had that didn't have blood on it. Katie came over and sat next to me.

"You wanted this, remember," she said. Her expression was cold.

"Yeah."

"_I_ didn't have a choice."

Katie's eighteen. People rarely volunteer for the eighteen year olds, especially the girls.

"I know."

"You did. You volunteered. You petitioned to be accepted. And I thought they were crazy, letting a fourteen year old get up here."

"Don't underestimate me yet, Katie."

"You're just like your cousin," she hissed. She wasn't looking at me; she had her eye on the other tributes in our alliance. Especially Maren. Maren makes everyone uncomfortable, even her district partner. Maren probably thought we were trying to strategize.

Yes. She did. I saw her going over to Emerald, the girl from District 1. They started talking, glancing in our direction.

"I am _not_ my cousin."

"Oh really? Isn't he the reason you wanted to be up here in the first place?" She shook her head. "You're unbelievable, Odair."

She got up and walked away, hefting a long, bloodied sword over her shoulder.

I haven't killed anyone yet. Not like Katie, my district partner. Not like the rest of my alliance. That's usually the sign of someone who isn't going to win. But I have to win. I _am_ going to win.

You can't win the Hunger Games without killing someone.

My alliance kills people brutally and messily. There are the tributes like Maren, who seem to enjoy what they're doing. There are the tributes like Katie, who do what they have to do, even if they don't know how.

I have this weird memory flash up about a pet dog someone in the village had. It got hurt – I don't remember how – and had to be put down. I remember Dad saying that it was a good thing the dog had been "put out of its misery."

They killed the dog, but they did it quickly.

That's what I resolve to do. I promise myself that if I have to kill, I'll do it quickly and try to make it as painless as possible.

So here I am, walking through the arena at night, abandoning the relative safety of my camp and alliance. Not that I'm safe there. Maren probably wants to cut my throat in my sleep. I need to prove to them that I'm not useless. That I can fight. I need to show them that they need to keep me around.

There's a little bubble of _something_ twisting in my stomach. It almost makes me stop and run back to camp, but I keep walking forward, slowly increasing my pace.

This is the Hunger Games. Kill or be killed.

I just have to remind myself of that.

I stop walking and lean against a tree. I have a feeling that someone, or something, is watching me. But it's too dark to see. There are stars in the sky, but the moon isn't out. I quietly draw a knife and wait, listening.

_There!_

I hear it – the crack of someone stepping on a fallen tree branch. I spin around, but I don't see anyone. I look down, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the gloom. There's something dark at the base of the tree. It looks like a plant. I prepare to move on. I'm just tense because it's the first night of the Hunger Games.

I stop. The plant isn't a plant.

It's a boy.

He's lying still, barely breathing, hoping that I will pass by without noticing him. But I have noticed him. What do I do now? I freeze. Part of me is hoping that he will attack me. Somehow I think it will be easier to kill if I'm attacked first. Self-defense.

But the boy just lies there. Maybe he's already dead.

No. Maybe? I don't know.

I draw my flashlight and turn it on.

The boy's alive. He turns and looks at me, shaking like a deer. For a moment it looks like he's going to run, but then he starts screaming. It's more like a shriek. It's an inhuman sound.

I had no idea one person could make that much sound.

I turn off the flashlight, but he keeps screaming.

"_Shut up! SHUT UP!"_

If he keeps screaming, anyone else in the forest is going to know where I am. Either they'll move further away, or they'll come looking, hoping to stab the boy's attacker in the back while he's busy slaughtering the kid.

I hear a branch crack behind me. Something flutters through the trees. I tense. There's someone else in the forest. I can feel them behind me.

The boy keeps screaming.

"_Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"_

The boy keeps screaming.

My knife is in my hand. I raise it.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the knife goes down so I don't have to see the splatter of blood. Not that I would see the blood anyway. It's too dark for that.

The boy keeps screaming. It's weird. He sounds almost like a mewling cat.

"_Shut up… shut up…"_

I'm crying as I kill him. I can't stop myself. I'm not sure if that means I can't stop the tears, or if I can't stop myself from killing.

"_Shut up… shut up…"_

I'm still saying it even after the screams fade.

The cannon fires.

_Dead and dead. _That's what Annie said, the day Quintan and I met her. We were being stupid, pretending to be in the Hunger Games. None of us really knew what it meant.

_Dead and dead._

I crawl away.


End file.
